The First Step
by Blacknovelist
Summary: Strange things can be heard among rumors in the Downside - the strangest are the ones that are true.


**A/N: I wrote this fic a while ago, but there wasn't yet a pyre section on ffnet so I had held off from posting it here, just for convenience. Now that it exists, might as well cross it over, right? This fic is on tumblr and ao3 too at blacknovelist (on both sites), so go ahead and check it out there instead if you want!**

 **Back when I first wrote this I'd been replaying Pyre and I had asked Hedwyn the question about how he got the blackwagon again so that I'd have it on hand for reference for this fic, but he was so vague about it that it didn't really do much to help in the end.** **I thought it was interesting that Hedwyn's wording implied he wasn't close to Rukey before they found the blackwagon though _-_ _"Got in touch with Jodi, who I knew. She got in touch with Rukey."_** **is what he says in-game, verbatim (though it could be argued that he didn't know how to contact Rukey like Jodi does, but eh, technicality). So I tried to work that in, kind of. Thinking about them going from barely knowing each other to being the First Trio during the first Lib Rite gets me in the feelings, man.**

 **Shoutout to LittlestMedic and their cute fic, Mirage, because I borrowed "mama Jodi" from them (and some of the "i don't want this to end" feelings but most of it is me tbh I'm a sucker for that shit)**

 **I had... a very specific reason I wanted to write a fic about them finding the blackwagon. But, that's something I'll get into another time, I think.**

 **If there's any errors or mistakes or criticisms to leave, please do! I posted this at 2 in the morning, as tends to be my custom (tho shoutout to the SGG discord who helped me decide whether or not to add the argument abt Tariq) and though it's been some time since I posted this and checked it over, there could always be some lingering things.**

* * *

It starts months before you are plunged down the river - not in the pearly streets of the Commonwealth, where the seeds of a plan are still being planted, but deep among the dung-boulder homes and sun-bleached bone forests of Jomuer Valley. Beneath the light of the moon and stars, among the five exiles drinking and eating beside the sputtering fire, a trader swings their arms as they regale their audience with theatrical exaggeration.

"...and these folks, they're rushing about fighting each other, wearing these bright eyesore dresses and freaky white masks for all the stars to see. Like the Commonwealth'll see and take 'em back somehow." They gesture upwards as the group devolves into another round of laughter and snorting. "Tossing a glittering ball and lighting up the place with bonfires like they _want_ the howlers ten leagues off to know what's going on. Lunatics, they are!"

"There'll always be idiots out there in the world," a demon rumbles, tearing into their plate of roasted lizard.

"Aye, you said it, El," One cur chortles, "and that's somethin' I'll toast to!" She starts gulping down her drink by the mouthful, and the others cheer her on.

A brunet leans over to slug the arm of the man next to him, laughing. "Good thing we ain't out there to catch whatever those guys've got. The things that happen in the Downside, eh?"

Hedwyn chuckles. "Indeed, my friend." He glances at his temporary companions, but his eyes soon drift back to the smoldering logs. "The things that happen in the Downside."

* * *

The first rule to surviving the Downside is to never stop moving.

Even the bog-crones, who often stake their claims in the Flagging Hands as soon as they arrive, do what they can to keep busy and ensure they never have a chance to realize how desolate and cruel the Commonwealth's merciful sentences really are. It's important to keep moving forward and leave the world above behind (both physically and mentally) so the burdens of the Downside (also physical and mental in equal measure) don't have the chance to catch up and kill you.

Unfortunately, that means making connections and finding people down here is a near miracle if you don't know what you're doing, and a difficult endeavor nonetheless even if you do. Hedwyn's only saving grace, in the end, is the fact that there aren't that many demons around. It isn't hard to keep his ear to the ground and ask the right people the right questions until he's pushing and stumbling his way past the crags splitting Jomuer Valley from the Prairie, coming across the campsite of Captain Jodariel herself.

Her low grunt as he steps (trips, really) into the light would've been intimidating, if the sound were any less familiar to his ears.

"Ah, hello, Jodi." Hedwyn beams. "I've been looking for you."

"Hello, Hedwyn," Jodariel says. "Should I be worried about the reason you've come trekking across the Downside without help to find me, or is this another one of your passing whims?"

"I'd like to think it's neither-" His pack clangs to the ground as the pots and pans inside bang together- "but I have a feeling you would disagree with me. Besides, explanations can wait. We haven't seen each other in some time. Have you eaten yet? I managed to pick up some things from the traders by the Spring that I think you'll enjoy."

"Did you now?" She pauses and sighs, before standing up. "Very well. I think I may have enough provisions left for both of us."

* * *

Having lived in exile for so long, Jodariel knows exactly how things best work here in the Downside. The problem instead lies in the fact that she is a demon and doesn't usually associate with any settlements in either of the most populous regions (Flagging Hands and its crones aside, as Jodi refused to discuss the place), and as a result cannot really help Hedwyn hunt down the info he's looking for. She does, however, know someone who can.

Rukey Greentail is someone he's only met briefly in the past, when the cur wrangled him good deals at the Slugmarket, shared a night and drinks, and extended his services to the nomad not long after his exile. "You ever need somethin' done," Rukey had said, "you just come right on over, chum! I'd be happy to help you out, and nobody's got connections down here like I do."

It doesn't take long to find him either - the message runner down at Hollowroot costs them a dinner and some of Jodi's scavenged herbs, but nothing they can't easily replace, and within a week the trio is sitting together, lunch hanging from the sticks at the makeshift fire pit's edge.

"So," Rukey says, switching between looking at the duo and eyeing the spits, "what brings you two to good ol' Greentail? Not that I ain't happy to see you chums, but Jodariel isn't usually one for making house calls so we can drink together."

"That's correct, Greentail," Jodariel says. "We have our reasons for contacting you, but the nature of those reasons are less business-like in nature and somewhat more... personal."

"Oh?" One ear shoots up.

"It's a crazy plan. You're the one who knows people, out of the three of us, and you have the best chances of finding what we need to make it work. It's a shot in the dark, I'll admit." Hedwyn prods the fire, turns the logs. "But our reward, I think, is worth the trouble, at least. If it happens to be true."

"And what, pray tell, is the reward to your so-called crazy plan?"

"Freedom."

The crackle of wood fills the air for just a moment.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard him, Greentail," Jodariel rumbles. "Outlandish as it sounds, I believe he's onto something."

"Well of course _you_ do, isn't there some rule about mums and their sons that has to do with always believing them?" Rukey falters for just a moment. "Did you guys forget that part where exile is a _life sentence?!_ If there was some kind of secret path to leave this dump, don't you think everyone'd be jumping all over it already?"

"Not unless the secret to freedom is so unbelievable that no one thinks it's true," Hedwyn says. "Look, Rukey. I know it's a tall order, asking you to trust us and hunt something down without a guarantee to you, or to any of us. But if we don't at least look into it, or try to figure it out, then there's definitely no way out of here. We'd be giving up before we've even begun, and I don't think I could forgive myself for something like that. If this whole thing turns out to be fake, I'll repay you. Every piece of it by pocket, I promise. If it turns out to be true, though... This just might be our ticket home."

Rukey eyes him, expression unreadable.

"...alright, you got me, chum. I'll bite." He settles down, and reaches for his share of lunch. "Tell me more about what we're doing, then."

It's small, but enough tension drains from his shoulders to fill a lake. Hedwyn smiles.

"We don't have many leads, but it starts somewhere up north..."

* * *

"This better work," Rukey grumbles for the umpteenth time as the messenger vanishes into the shrubbery. "You guys are lucky I already have a good idea of who to ask 'bout this. It costs a lot to guarantee zipped lips, and even more to get a run to and from the middle of nowhere like this."

"Discretion is necessary," Jodariel says. "If word got out as to what we are searching for and for what reasons..."

"People calling us crazy would be the least of our problems," Hedwyn says.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Rukey sighs. "I guess we're camping out here for a while longer."

* * *

The sun rests well above the horizon without a cloud to obscure it, leaving the Downside bright and warm in the surprisingly picturesque afternoon. Jodariel stalks the length of the clearing with a deliberate slowness, scanning the trees and skies for any less-than-friendly company. Rukey sits by the ashes of the fire, taking stock of what few materials and possessions he has on hand, calculating which ones can be sold or used or traded should he need to. There's a rustle in the underbrush and they both pause, alert, until it fades back into silence.

"Hey, Jodi, uh..." Rukey fidgets with a glass bauble. "How long'd that messenger say they'd be talking to Hedwyn, again?"

"They didn't."

"...right." He turns back to his belongings, sighs, and starts counting again.

It isn't until shadows start stretching long and they've started preparing for the evening that Hedwyn finally returns, alone. He smiles in greeting.

"I'm back."

"Took you guys a while!" Rukey grins, bounding over. Jodariel doesn't stop tending the flames, but she dips her head towards him and there's a quirk in her lips.

"How did your meeting go?" She asks.

"Just fine, I think. The messenger left to go inform their employer." Hedwyn turns to his supplies and effortlessly heaves his cooking pot up - Rukey turns to finish clearing space. "They asked a few questions, answered some of mine, and left me with quite a bit to think about in the meantime. Said word would be back before the next moon passes, at the latest."

"So... it's true, then?" Rukey asks. "This whole fighting under the stars thing, it's real?"

"They kind of twisted out of a straight answer, but... I think it is. The fact that someone came at all says quite a lot." Hedwyn pauses. "They also left me the name of the one your contact reached out to. Said he'd probably get in touch with me directly, after this."

Jodariel looks up. "Who is it?"

"Someone by the name of Sandalwood."

* * *

After the second messenger arrives to deliver word from Sandalwood, the three relocate their semi-permanent camp to the edge of the pass leading to Jomuer Valley. Partly because, as Jodariel tells them, the local fauna is often too wary of the monstrous form of the Ridge of Gol to come within sight of it, but also because the messenger informs them that they will come from the north, and this makes communications easier for both sides anyway.

For weeks, Hedwyn's days consist of their small clearing and sputtering fires, of Rukey slipping off for days at a time to chat it up with his associates and Jodariel wandering off to patrol or in search for useful flora, of familiar strangers appearing like they've been there the whole time to ask more questions and deliver more news and bits of conversation from Sandalwood. It isn't even until halfway through the second month of their communications, while Jodi and Rukey are away from camp, that the dozenth messenger comes with something new, in the form of a sheet of paper.

"In the Sandfolds," She says to him, holding the paper up for him to see, "to the west and south, where the River Sclorian delivered us into the Downside." The messenger traces a crude map in the corner, then taps at the next image, a black and white ink sketch of a wagon with a massive horn through its top section to serve as what seemed to be a lantern holder. "Find the blackwagon of the Nightwings, and take it with you. Bring your friends, the two of them." Then she points to the third image - a circle with an intricate pattern traced in black, all curved lines connected and overlapping each other. "This will be set in its floor, and will be how you know you've found what you seek. You'll find almost everything you need inside the cabin."

"For the Rites, you mean?"

"Yes." The messenger doesn't so much as blink. "Nothing within will be unnecessary to your journey.. Once you've found the wagon, there's one more thing you need to do. I trust you know what this symbol is." Her finger moves to the fourth picture; one that sends an unconscious thrill through his heart, even if it means nothing in exile. "Find a Reader, take them with you. How doesn't matter, as long as they are willing to read for you until you no longer require their services - you could buy their loyalty, for all the Scribes may care. The Book of Rites is the key to unlocking the Rites themselves, and there's more than enough copies for you all - you'll need to wear the robes, as well. There will be a set for each of you, and then some. Sandalwood has requested you try and find someone for each mask and set you have." The paper is flipped to reveal a series of diagrams - instructions of some kind, Hedwyn realizes. "These are directions he gave me, for you. Follow them as best you can."

She meets his gaze, sheet held between them, and smiles. It's the first time he's seen any of Sandalwood's people show emotion. "'I will eagerly await the day we may meet, face to face. May the Scribes watch over you and see you find the true freedom you seek, young man.'"

The messenger disappears back into the Downside from whence she appeared, leaving him there, the guide clutched in his hand the only sign she'd been here at all.

* * *

"You are certain this is the right place?"

"As much as I can be, Jodi."

Hedwyn examines the map on the corner one last time, before folding the sheet and tucking it into the bag on his belt. In front of them the wreckage of exile cages twist out of the sands around the mouth of the River like the silver bones of some long-dead titan, ripped apart and in various states of rust and decay. A few are more intact than others and some are still trapped in the rocks and currents, but all of them are devoid of the lives they once held.

"And I thought I'd never have to see these things again," Rukey sighs, knocking a bar of metal back into the river. "So you're absolutely sure that wagon's supposed to be somewhere near here, right?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Then we'd best start looking," Jodariel says. "Before night falls and the howlers come."

Rukey looks heavenwards. "Yeah, yeah..."

It's only thanks to a flash of green and red among the browns and grays of the Sandfolds - from a potted plant sitting on the back step and a torn scrap from the hanging flags, no less - that they find the wagon, in the end. The greater half of the day is spent scooping the mounds of dirt and sand off the transport until they realize it's trapped in a rut, and the other half of the day is spent attempting to lever and push it free until Jodariel gets impatient and heaves it out in one huge burst.

"Thanks, Jodi." Hedwyn leans on his knees for a moment, heaving, before holding the canteen in her direction, She nods, and takes it.

Figuring out how to ready the blackwagon for the night after that is a trial and a half. Silently, they all give thanks to the Scribes that Sandalwood had the foresight to send them a _manual_.

* * *

"Hedwyn. I believe we have a problem."

"What is it, Jodi?"

"There's a man in here. Sitting in the corner. He doesn't appear to be moving."

"Huh. Whaddya know, there is."

"…I don't think I recall the messenger or Sandalwood saying anything about someone being in the wagon."

"Maybe he's a minstrel? He's got an instrument and everything."

"Greentail…"

"Is he alright?"

"Well, uh. I just tried waking him up and, he didn't so much as twitch. Did get some really weird vibes from the guy, though. I don't think he's dead, at least. That's something, right?"

"To you, perhaps, but it still leaves the matter of what to do about him. He is not dead, but he has not stirred, and there is no telling how long he has been here or if he is a threat."

"Why don't we just leave him here? Not like he's hurting anything, or in the way. He's even sitting in the corner."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Rukey might be right. We can't just leave him in the Sandfolds when he's unconscious, and if we can't wake him, there isn't much else we can do until he comes to on his own."

"..."

"If you want to try, be my guest, Jodi. But we aren't thinking about kicking him out until he's awake."

"...Very well."

"Great! Now that _that_ debate is over, maybe we should figure out how we're gonna look after the horde of drive-imps in the rafters?"

"The **_what_**."

* * *

As it turns out, finding a Reader is something far easier said than done. While the blackwagon makes it much easier to get around so Rukey can send word out to his various contacts and associates through Hollowroot, given how long literacy has been banned in the Commonwealth, well. There just aren't many Readers in the Downside to be found.

Or rather, as they learn from what they occasionally stumble upon among the torn cages by the river, there aren't often Readers (or other exiles, for that matter) to be found _alive_.

"I'll keep my ears open," Rukey promises, sending another messenger out to yet another vague associate he knows. "But, maybe, we'll have better odds if we just camp it out by the river and try to find some folks that actually make it down? At least that way we can ask 'em straight off the bat instead of chasing a bunch of Downside cryptids that may or may not exist at all, let alone know how to read."

"Incredible, Greentail," Jodariel says. "That's actually a fairly reasonable plan, aside from the abysmal rate of survival the River Sclorian tends to provide."

"Thank you, Jodi," Rukey drawls. "My plans are always impeccable, after all." He would be angrier if it weren't for the faint smile on her face and the fact that this is probably the first joke he's ever heard her crack - as it is... he lets it slide, this once. "Besides, I'm sure we'll find someone alive someday!"

"Perhaps."

(It wasn't funny. Really, he swears.)

The three of them settle into a new routine as they familiarize themselves with both the Nightwings' blackwagon and living together in their surprisingly roomy new home. Some days are spent venturing the Downside Prairie, picking up rumors and word from Rukey's people, selling what plants and trinkets they salvage from the land when they have the chance; others are spent wearing the raiments and masks they'd gotten along with the wagon, sweeping the Sandfolds and checking the River Sclorian for traces of new cages, new exiles, potential survivors of the treacherous trip downriver.

It's difficult, sometimes. Hedwyn, having grown used to living alone, tends to leave his belongings in unusual and obscure places that make avoiding or finding them difficult for anyone that isn't Hedwyn; Jodi tends to pace when she's worried or in deep thought, which wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that her footsteps shake the wagon when she's not careful and Rukey can only stand the squeak of the floorboards for so long; Rukey's personality in general tends to get on Jodariel's nerves, and vice versa. Occasionally, the hopelessness of finding nothing but scraps and remains starts to get at all of them, and they need to step back from watching the rushing waters and shifting sands for a while.

But some days, they make it work. Rukey finds ways to seem busy or occupied and helps Jodariel forage for supplies, and she works at not nagging him; Hedwyn starts restricting "his space" for his heavier possessions, so Rukey can stop running into them; Jodariel tries to restrict her contemplation for when they're stopped or she's off the blackwagon, and to avoid the noisiest of floorboards when she can't. Some days it's easy to gather around the fire and melt together into the comfortable aura, to become something that looks just a little bit more like a family with every hour that passes.

 _'I wouldn't have had this in the Commonwealth,'_ Hedwyn marvels some nights, when the stars glimmering above them seem just a bit brighter than they usually do. _'It would be close, maybe, but I'd still be on the Bloodborder, fighting the Harps. Fighting Fikani's people.'_

Once, the thought of fighting the age-old war had filled him with excitement ( _with awe, with a hope that maybe, someday, he could be like Mama Jodi, who always lifted him in her strong battle-scarred arms_ ). Now, the idea leaves his head spinning.

If finding a Reader doesn't work out for them, he knows, they will likely return to their lives before this. They will go back to wandering the Downside, surviving in the only ways they know how.

 _But is that all you want to do? Survive?_

Silently, privately, he prays to the Scribes that their plan works. That he doesn't have to watch his friends leave until nothing has changed and he doesn't know when (or if) they might see each other again. He prays, for only a moment, that he can hold onto this just a little bit longer.

* * *

"So, what I'm thinking is, given how long we've gone without seeing anyone come out of that river, we're long overdue to finding at least one person alive, y'know?" Rukey grins. "I've got a feeling. Today's gonna be the day, I just know it!"

"That would be far more believable if you hadn't said that last week as well," Jodariel says. "What's so different about today, Greentail?"

"Just a hunch."

"If acting on a hunch means we might find something more than sand, I think I'll take it," Hedwyn jokes. Their cursory scan of the riverbank hadn't provided any new leads, but as always, Rukey stays optimistic.

He turns back to the controls, veering around another splintered steel cage (it's fresh, if the lack of rust and wear are any indication). Directing the drive-imps is surprisingly easy once one understand the basics of it, and as long as you keep the critters well-fed they seem content to follow orders.

Even if those orders consist of slamming on the brakes so hard you nearly fling yourself and everyone in the blackwagon right out the window.

"Ugh, not that I'm insulting your driving skills, chum, but WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

"For once, I'm with Greentail. What's going on, Hedwyn?"

The tips of his ears turn pink. "Sorry. I didn't mean to slam on them like that. But outside, in front of the wagon - I think there's someone there."

The impostor members of the Nightwings pause. Then, Jodariel and Rukey are stepping towards the front window, towards the unfortunate and sad lump sitting in the distance.

"...So there is."

Rukey beams. "Well, what are we waiting for? How's about we go and say hello?"

"I couldn't have put it better myself."

* * *

Out on the barren wastes, you sink low to the sands, your ragged cloak doing little to shield you from the blistering winds. The fear your arrival brought you has started to fade, replaced by the numbness exhaustion and starvation brings you. Your vision is starting to swim. You won't last much longer, like this.

Off in the distance, you hear the rumble of a wagon.


End file.
